The governance of men was cast into ruin that day.
The quake of the impact, striking down on what we only know to have once been a simple farm, spread out far, far across the world. It shook the land, it shook us, and it shook the oceans, distant and caused great tremors to reach the shores of our home.
The fires of revolution had already been lit and burned their way through the ties of society. They had already begun to smolder out. But the impossibility of ignoring this clear message was all too present in our eyes back then.
The message, sent by God, was one word — ‘Fire’.
After the quakes, fires spread all around the site of impact, and they gnawed their way through forest and field, growing hungrily, as they devoured the landscape and, we too, seeing the omen for what it was, felt our hunger and began setting our fires anew.
— The cycle of revolution continued to turn.
~ Memoir of a revolutionary, fifty years after the heavy impact.
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[Gottlieb]
“Fuck,” mutters Gottlieb to himself beneath his breath, staring at the lightless monitor. Somehow, despite it being turned off, he can still see the images before his eyes.
Firing the gun and blasting away a few thousand bits and pieces here and there is one thing, but that doesn’t mean he wants to see shit like that. Especially when it’s happened to people who he ‘knows’.
The man gets up, sliding his chair back along the rail until it hits the stop. “Fucking goblins, man,” he says, rising to his feet. “— Not you,” says Gottlieb, gesturing to Grunheide. He grabs the rifle and slings it over his shoulder. “I’m taking a leak. Hold the fort down.”
He leaves, ruffling through his unkempt hair as he goes.
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[The Goblin-King]
I am the Goblin-King, am I not?
What does this mean?
My ears ring, screeching with a sharp whistling, as if a harpy’s nest were above my head in the now-barren treetops. My eyes shake, my vision blurring still as thousands of leaves, ripped free from the tree from the powerful wave of energy, cascade around us like snowfall. The forest, despite not being hit by the god’s fist in the east, is barren.
Trees have fallen over. Fruit has ripped from the branches. Their crowns are removed. Their bodies are twisted and gnarled.
Our camp is ruined. Our celebration, our time of peace, is ruined.
“Wood-mother,” I ask. “What does this mean?”
She places a comforting hand on my shoulder. Her fingers are warm and soft. The wood-mother leans down, placing a kiss on the side of my head that fills me with joy, unbound.
“It means that your time for our people has come to an end. Thank you,” says the Wood-mother.
— A sharp knife slides across my throat.
I was the Goblin-King.
I die.
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[Azimuth]
Azimuth falls down onto her bed, her arms at her side, a long, satisfied sigh escaping her, together with a smile.
The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
It is later that evening. She finally got to take that suit of armor off after a full day of parading around, shaking babies and kissing hands and looking important.
She’s so tired.
Azimuth breathes in very deeply and closes her eyes, before exhaling again, feeling a satisfying pop run through her lower back. Wearing ceremonial armor, especially if you’ve never worn armor before, is a tough job. It’s a good thing she grew up doing farm work, or she wouldn’t have managed to survive the day.
Her eyes begin to fall shut.
Suddenly, a knocking comes from the door.
Azimuth’s eyes shoot back open again, and she sighs, sitting upright. It’s just like being back home. There’s never a quiet minute.
The orcish woman rises up to her feet, rubbing her tired eyes as she walks to the door. “Coming…” she mumbles, grabbing the door handle to open it and looks at the faces of her mother, a strong, bulky orcish woman, and her father, a small, stick-like wizard of a human.
Azimuth screams in excitement and grabs the two of them, crushing them both at the same time in her grasp.
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[Gottlieb]
Gottlieb shakes himself off to dry out the lizard. There isn’t any toilet paper on the station. Everything is done via recycled wipes that get ‘washed’ in hydro. But he really doesn’t want to use those as far as he can avoid doing so.
After finishing his business, he packs everything back away and dabbles his fingers under the ultra-light disinfection station, next to a stack of moist towels.
Whistling, he looks up towards the blue light that sits above the bathroom, which is a little odd. But privacy isn’t something one should expect in space, apparently.
— Something shuffles outside of the door to the washroom.
Gottlieb sighs, grabbing the rifle. It’s probably another skeleton or zombie or something. Every time the lights go out, they spawn in the corridors, and he has to beat his way through them.
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Gottlieb arrives back at the gunner’s bay, shaking off the rifle, that is covered in bits of viscera and gunk. He doesn’t even shoot it anymore that often. He just sort of bashes monsters with it.
The man sits down, sighing in satisfaction. He looks over towards Grunheide, who is still sitting there.
“Sorry about the goblin comment,” says Gottlieb. “Tell you what, you can shoot the gun next time, okay?” he offers. “But not on any humans.”
“Grunheide accepts,” says the goblin.
— The lights kick back on as the station’s battery sets back into action.
The monitor springs back to life.
[Reprimand issued]
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Orbital Gunner Gottlieb - Misuse of orbital station’s capabilities
Context: (Orbital Gunner Gottlieb has damaged military infrastructure via over-capacitization of critical electrical networks.)
- Notifying the captain
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Suggestion: Unprotected ejection into space
“Morning sunshine,” says Gottlieb. He gestures to the control stick on Grunheide’s side. “Unlock the stick for her,” he says. Gottlieb nods. “Go on, find something interesting to shoot.”
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[Meridian]
“You conspirator!” yells the king. “Blood traitor!”
Meridian shakes his head. “Brother. You don’t understand. How many times must we repeat this discussion?” he asks.
The older man narrows his eyes, leaning in. “Not much more,” he hisses. “I’m giving you one last chance, Meridian,” says the king. “As your brother. Take your leave. Go to a cave somewhere and die there,” he orders. “But you will not steal what is rightfully mine.” He points at himself. “I earned this!”
Meridian shakes his head. “Brother. You don’t understand. The gods have called for me,” he says. “You fought for the throne. But it has nonetheless been declared as mine, even if I don’t want it.”
“ENOUGH!” yells the king, slamming his fist down onto the table. “You leave me no choice,” says the man. He reaches for his belt, pulling out a knife.
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[Gottlieb]
Grunheide pans around the landscape with the control stick on her side of the station, zooming from one place of interest to the next. She seems to have gotten the hang of using the controls to navigate the camera around.
— A series of clouds cover the view, pushing along in a strong jetstream.
“Ah…” she mutters in annoyance.
“Don’t worry, just look somewhere else,” says Gottlieb. He turns back towards the monitor. “Oh, hey… What the hell is that?” he asks.
The man narrows his eyes, focusing on some blurbs moving in the clouds. They are unusually colorful in contrast with the gray clouds.
Grunheide zooms in.
It looks like a flock of very vibrant, colorful half-bird people. Harpies. Grunheide looks his way. “Not people?” she asks.
Gottlieb considers it for a moment and then shrugs. “I guess not,” he says. “Kai, are harpies people?”
Kai does not respond.
“Good enough for me,” says Gottlieb. “Go for it,” he says. “Don’t know how effective it will be against things that aren’t on the ground, though.”
Grunheide nods, focusing the camera.
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[Meridian]
“You leave me no choice, Meridian,” says the king, lifting the knife into the air.
Meridian sighs, shaking his head. “You’ll regret this,” he warns. “Believe me. This is not a wise idea,” warns the old man.
“We’ll see,” says the king, and strikes forward with the knife.
— The world rumbles and quakes, the light of glory shining in through the high, colorful windows of the castle.
Glass shatters and windows burst as the wave of energy rocks the world above their heads. Shards of many colors fly through the air like so many feathers from a flock of birds.
Meridian, finishing his wincing, opens an eye to look at the man standing opposite of himself. The king, his brother, gasps, clutching for his heart, in which a piece of shattered glass has been thrown straight into.
“I warned you,” says Meridian, shaking his head. “I’ll see you on the other side, brother,” finishes the old man as the king falls down, dead.
The room is quiet as the rumbling continues, the stones of the castle shaking.
Meridian looks at the royal guards who are standing there, lost in shock and confusion. “So… are you going to untie me now?” he asks. “Or do we have to do this again?”
The guards look at each other and then quickly run over to undo his binds.